


I’m a Nervous Wreck

by Monsieur_Grenouille



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: I’M A BORING GUY DON’T JUDGE, M/M, Soliloquy, This might be another disorder, Trohley - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsieur_Grenouille/pseuds/Monsieur_Grenouille
Summary: Joe has a routine. A very strict, self-given routine.
Relationships: Andy Hurley/Joe Trohman
Kudos: 6





	I’m a Nervous Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, guys. If you like my fics, thank the fact that I’m a walking disaster who gets inspiration from his own life. 
> 
> Well I’m coming in strong towards my second UTI this year because I have the ability to hyperfocus. I was given a mountain of schoolwork to do, and I worked on it every day from 7:56 to 2:30-ish. I got caught up in it all, and forgot to use the bathroom. SO HERE I AM, TAKE ME OR LEAVE ME. Personally I’d leave me.

The walks just started as a fun and relaxed way of exercising each day. The last thing Joe expected was for it to become a routine. From a routine it became a habit. From a habit it became some form of an addiction. Everyday, he had to go on a walk in the morning, or the rest of the day was just useless. That’s just how it was.

It wasn’t the walking in general that he was addicted to. It was the places he walked, how he walked, and what surrounded his senses when he walked. 

The time he left for the walk never really mattered, just as long as it was before ten am. When he left his house, he locked the front door. When he used to walk to school — before the government shut down the schools — he would always lock the door, and it just felt strange if he didn’t. 

After cutting through the government-owned lot of grass next to his house, he stepped onto the concrete and started listening to the same album he’d listened to the first time he went on this walk. It was the same songs in the same order, and nothing could change that. Not as long as Joe turned off the “shuffle” option for Spotify. 

Joe had a pattern for his footfalls on each slab of pavement. Every other slab got one footfall, the others got two. He muttered under his breath and stared at his feet, making sure he didn’t skip or add a step. “1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2...” he repeated. At the point where he had to turn the corner, he broke pattern and only put down one foot on the turning slab. His pattern continued after that. 

He turned the corner again, and he was officially on his defined “loop.” His track, his course, whatever you want to call it. Either way, it was the path he always walked on. His first song was half over, and he could tell because the second verse always starts when he turns the second corner. What a coincidence. It’s almost as if he trained himself to walk at a speed that would promise it. 

The strip of pavement from the second corner to the third corner — the one that ran behind his house — was pretty relaxed. Joe had never taken the time to plan anything for that part, but it was always a nice opportunity to look down and see the ~~creek~~ trash-filled ditch of mud, weeds, and water. There were normally frogs and ducks down there with the occasional muskrat, but Joe never went down to look at them during the first lap. He did that during the sixth or seventh lap for the duration of the tenth song. 

He wasn’t aware of his footfall pattern around this part anymore. It was just natural. 

He turned the corner to curve around a playground. He crossed the street, officially entering the most anxiety-inducing part of his walk. 

He walked normally for a few paces, but had to cross the street onto the complete other side when the sidewalk broke off. His feet had to land on specific tiles when he was on the street, and he had to put the right amount pressure on each step. He was sure there was a lot of math and psychology behind why he did this, but he couldn’t focus on that right then; he had to get this right. 

Most of it came from his lifelong fear of failure, or the underlying sense that he could never get anything right. He flinched sharply when he broke pattern or when a certain note of the song didn’t land on the right slab of pavement. 

He also had the habit of crossing the street before he got to the house with a blue truck. He had to cross _once_ so that he could maintain the six feet distance, but the habit just stuck. It wasn’t a habit, though. He had grown afraid of being close to the blue truck. 

Today, he pulled out his phone to check the time and didn’t notice how he forgot to cross the street at the right time. He was headed straight for the blue-truck-house. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked up. He became eye level with the truck, making his breathing hitch less than a second later. 

“That’s not supposed to be there,” he muttered, “I’m supposed to be on the other side of the street. It... it’s too late to cross, but I can’t walk past it because I’ve never done that before. I can’t back up and cross the street where I normally cross, because that’s just plain stupid. But then again what do I know about plain stupid? My obsession with this walk is plain stupid. I can’t deal with it, though. I just have to get past this stupid truck. But how the hell do I get past it?” 

A soft voice came up from six feet behind him. “You could go around it?” 

Joe whipped around to see his roommate, Andy Hurley. “Why are you here?” he asked. 

Andy shrugged and kicked at the ground. “I just thought there was something wrong, that’s all.” 

Joe glanced behind himself at the truck, then turned his attention to his roommate. “There’s nothing wrong,” he lied. 

Andy stared him down for a second. “You’re lying,” he said, “there’s something bothering you.” He stepped closer, but it was okay since they lived together. 

Joe shook his head. “There is absolutely nothing bothering me.” 

“You sound sarcastic,” Andy rolled his eyes and linked his arm with Joe’s. “Walk with me?” he offered. Joe nodded, and closed his eyes for the brief moment where they walked past the truck. He shuddered a little, just enough for Andy to feel it too. “What was that?” the redhead asked. 

Joe cleared his throat. “This isn’t how I normally walk.” 

“With someone else?” 

“No... this path. I normally turn there and cut through those two houses and my footfalls aren’t normally like this. This song isn’t supposed to be playing right now, either.” He tried to steer them towards a part of his typical path, but Andy wouldn’t let him. He just stayed on the sidewalk stubbornly. His silence demonstrated that he knew exactly what he was doing to Joe. 

“What are you doing?” Joe turned to look at him. Andy flickered his eyes upward to make eye contact with him. 

“I’m helping you.” 

“How?! You’re making me freak out. This isn’t familiar and I don’t know what to do,” Joe tensed up and clenched his teeth. 

Andy put his hand on Joe’s arm. “Calm down, man. All you have to do is walk. There’s nothing else to it. One foot, then the next, then the next, then the next. No other complicated directions or formats. These walks are supposed to be relaxing, right?” 

Joe nodded. “I’d be relaxed if you just let me go on my walk the way I want to.” 

Andy shook his head. He wasn’t mad, but he wasn’t happy either. He just had the same neutral expression. People could read Joe like a book, but Andy was like _The Divine Comedy;_ it took five minutes to read a single page. (I picked up _Inferno_ for school, and I’m loving it. It’s so deep and I think it pairs well with “Folie a Deux”). 

“Joe, you need to understand your problem. You’re obsessed with these _patterns_ and _rituals_ that completely ruin a fun outdoor activity. At first I thought it was cool that you had a specific outline of where to walk and when, but over the last few weeks you’ve become anxious.” 

Joe reached down to hold Andy’s tattooed hand. The arm-in-arm contact wasn’t enough touch for the moment. “I’m always anxious,” he denied. 

Andy sighed and stroked his thumb on Joe’s hand. “Not like this. You’re worried about where to walk. Your conformity to a set routine makes it seem like you’re in some form of Nazi camp. Someone’s bound to worry, Joe.” 

Joe groaned. “Stop comparing my routines to Nazi camps! I see the symbolism and I respectfully disagree.” 

Andy shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just saying that you don’t look at peace when you’re trying to do everything right. Who... who’s gonna hurt you if you mess up?” 

The curly haired boy flinched. He didn’t want to answer this. Andy noticed his reaction and said, “We need to talk when we get home.”

”Andy–“ 

“We need to talk!” 

“It’s not–“ 

“Show me your arms.” 

Joe turned up his blank pale wrists. “It’s all mental,” he whispered, “There’s nothing to worry about if it’s mental, right?” He squeezed Andy’s hand and chuckled softly. “Please just take us home and then we can talk about my nonexistent problems.” 

The drummer let out a small noise of frustration. “Please don’t doubt me one more time because you know I’m always right, Joseph. Yes, we’re going home.” 

Joe bent his head down to kiss Andy’s forehead. Andy was shocked, but allowed it to pass. 

**************

Joe and Andy came up with a conclusion at the end of their talk. Joe could go on his walks, but only if he took Andy and made sure he took none of the same routes any days in a row. Little by little, they were going to get over Joe’s irrational obsession with patterns and paths. 

**Author's Note:**

> Clean comments!
> 
> I haven’t gotten over my obsession with taking the same walk everyday. I still count my steps on each slab of pavement, and I’m still afraid of a blue truck. I have no one with Andy’s character in my own life story, so there’s that.


End file.
